Great Jones Street by Don DeLillo 8 min. @ Mercury Espresso I have an allergy to leopard print. And zebras and tiger too. I like the animals but I do not like to dress in their skin. When I first arrived in Paris the stylists always want to dress me in Read more
When I began studying yoga and Ayurveda I could not reconcile the first two Yamas. I”m going to grossly simplify things and say that the Yamas and Niyamas, there are five of each, are the commandments of yoga. The first echoes the Golden Rule, Do No Harm. The second is Read more
The Sexual Life of Catherine M. by Catherine Millet 8 min in Kensington Market Cum was in the air again. Dee had wanted to ask Kat if she had smelled it on their last evening walk but didn’t dare. Kat already thought she was loopy. It was even possible Kat Read more
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins 8 min @ Salt on Ossington He was looking down at her kindly – even the cloudy left eye had a kindness to it. They’d been standing outside the “Done Crossing Market” for fifteen minutes. The night bus was always inconsistent. She kept telling him Read more
Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman 8 min on the floor Being conscious her smile had been frozen without any further evolution in the expression, she took a sip of wine. She didn’t know what to say, she hadn’t gotten the joke . Joan was very adept at laughing along, joining in Read more
How To Know God, The Yoga Aphorisms of Patanjali trans. by Swami Prabhavananda and Christopher Isherwood 7 min on the Ossington 63 NB It is a photo, your standard school portrait, the kind that came in a split screen of sizes, from wallet to mantle. He has a small face with Read more
Darkness metastasized. Bring more Light. This is an S.O.S. telegram. This is a prayer. This is an order. This could be an affirmation. Or a reminder – a Post-it™ for life. It is hard to see in the dark. That is philosophically self-evident. my shout-out to Julian Barnes. I’m trying Read more
The Cat’s Table by Michael Ondaatje 8 min on the Ossington 63 southbound I remember the smell most. The sweetly rotting smell of dead. I was eight years old and I knew instinctively when I walked in that something was dead and the something was Bree-Anne’s hamster. I knew too, that Read more